Back to the Beat
by giveyourimmortalitytome
Summary: “JT is gone. Dead. Gone and dead.” Toby’s convincing himself it’s all some elaborate prank. Mia’s boyfriend is dead – and she doesn’t even know how or why or when. And Liberty… Liberty is crumbling. What is the Monday after like for those left behind?
1. Part One: The Worst Part

**A/N: **This is a post-RTT possibly-two-shot dealing with Toby, Mia, and Liberty, and their first day back at Degrassi after JT's death. I'd wanted to write something to this effect for a while; I think it came out pretty good. Read and review, please?

Oh, and also: Degrassi is, as always, not mine. Title is a Motion City Soundtrack Song; part one title and lyrics come from "The Worst Part" by Motion City Soundtrack.

_**Part One: The Worst Part**_

_Out of the blue out into the loneliest place that you will ever know…_

Toby Isaacs wasn't completely sure what to expect that Monday. After his weekend, he wouldn't have been surprised if Degrassi had sprouted wings and flown away. Much to his relief – or disdain, depending on which way you looked at it – he arrived that morning to find everything as usual. Degrassi seemed to be the only aspect of his life that insisted on remaining firmly in place.

He stopped, paused for a moment to gaze up at the school. He was in the midst of his sixth year as a student here, but rarely did he ever actually take the time to simply _look_ at it.

It was an impressive building; modern architecture. The massive "DEGRASSI" banner flapped in the wind, edges frayed and discolored from overexposure. The steps were littered with students, as per usual. Everyone was present and accounted for – the cheerleaders, the chess clubbers, the bad-asses, the Grade 9's. Spinner, Ash, and Jimmy – leftovers from last year's populars. Alex, alone, nose buried in her biology book. Darcy and her cute, preppy Christians.

Yeah, all the cliché cliques were there. It was beginning to dawn on Toby that his entire life was nothing more than a cliché. He had kissed only one girl who meant it; attended more chess matches than keggers. His best friend had recently been reduced to nothing more than a box six feet under and a statistic.

A girl whose brother had died in some inner-city turf war came into his health class to talk last year. She'd told her heart-breaking story; the students in Toby's class didn't bother to smother their snores. Toby wondered if that was where his life was headed: a victim who made their life reliving the past.

He took a step forward; then another, and another: one two three four five. Ever since he'd claimed brotherhood; ever since he'd wrapped his arms around Liberty and watched Sean kick that storage locker repeatedly – he'd taken to counting steps. It had been one hundred and fifty-three from the waiting room out to his dad's car; another fifty to get him up to his room once they got home. Twenty out to his car this morning. Forty-five got him to the front steps of his school. Degrassi was still his school, as hard as it was for him to believe. As different as he now was from the giggling cheerleaders and the Christians, solemn in their morning prayers. This was his place – always had been.

He just wished it felt like it.

As Toby slowly made his way up the steps, he wondered how many more steps he had left. A hundred thousand? A million? This thought invariably led to how many steps JT had left in his life: none.

Those two letters sent Toby's brain into overdrive. He'd spent the morning avoiding the elephant in his mind; side-stepping around thoughts of his former best friend. He wasn't ready to process it; he couldn't face what had happened at Emma's house just before 11PM on Friday night. JT wad dead, he knew; but Toby was prepared to deny that fact for as long as he could.

He pushed the front door open and made his way through the crowds of students. Their laughter stung. He ignored it best he could and, out of instinct, headed for his locker. Danny was waiting for him, backpack slung over his slouched shoulders.

"Hey, dude," he greeted Toby somberly, his usual grin about three light years away. "I just wanted to see how you – uh – were holding up. You know." He shrugged sheepishly. Toby entered his combination quickly and flung open his locker.

"Nothing's really sunk in yet," he said as he dumped a few books into his bag. "So okay, I guess. How's Liberty?"

Danny shook his head. "Not good, man. She hasn't said a word since she got home Friday. Left her room _once_ to pee and grab an apple."

"What else can we expect?" Toby sighed and turned to Danny. "JT is…" He was unable to find the courage to finish his thought. The conversation trailed off awkwardly.

"Oh, shit," Danny muttered a few moments later, eyes focused over Toby's shoulder.

"What?" Danny planted his hands on Toby's shoulders and spun him around: Mia was at her locker towards the end of the hall, cheerfully transferring books from her backpack. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"Oh, _shit_. Does she know?" Toby whispered harshly.

"I don't know, dude! I didn't tell her!" Danny shrugged.

"Damn!" Toby turned back to Danny; shot another look at Mia. "I guess… I'll have to do it."

"Are you sure?" Danny asked softly.

"Better me than the DCS rumor mill." Toby muttered, staring at the floor. Danny hit him lightly on the back.

"Good luck, alright? I'll see you later." Toby nodded and slung his bag over his shoulder. This was going to suck.

He procrastinated the confession for as long as he could, drifting towards Mia as slowly as he could manage. He could only put it off for so long, though, and reached JT's (ex?) girlfriend just as she was shutting her locker. She saw him and smiled brightly. He forced a smile that probably just succeeded in making him appear sick. Mia didn't notice.

"Hey. Toby!" she asked before hugging him warmly. Toby actually began to feel a little nauseous. "How was your weekend?"

"It was – well, it was – um –" Anything Toby said would either give it away too quickly or be a blatant lie. He muttered incomprehensibly for a moment before briskly switching the topic. "How about you?"

"Wasn't that bad, actually. My aunt Rose was great with Bella and lived near this really sick park. And I think she's truly, finally, seriously over her flu – thank _God_." Toby nodded and ignored the bile rising in his throat. "Oh, by the way," Mia added, oblivious to Toby's sudden urge to vomit. "Have you talked to JT at all? I've been calling him nonstop since I got home yesterday, and he hasn't been picking up."

_Oh, this is just cruel_, Toby thought incredulously as he stared blankly at Mia's inquisitive, innocent face. She had absolutely no idea what was coming – no clue that her boyfriend had been stabbed in the heart (_literally_ – Toby felt it was necessary to add that every time he thought it) over the weekend. She was concerned with all the same trivial things – phone calls and flu's and parks – things that seemed laughably mundane from the other side. _JT is dead!_ Toby felt like bellowing. _That's why he's not fucking picking up!_

Speaking of – where was JT's phone, anyway? Toby was pretty sure it had been in his car the night-that-shall-not-be-named – but where was it now? A dump? The police station? Mrs. Cooney's garage? Tragedy always brought out Toby's minor obsessive tendencies.

"Oh – um –" Toby stuttered. How the fuck was he supposed to do this? "Listen, Mia." He took a deep breath, stalling even in the final moments. "There was a party, over the weekend – for Liberty. She turned eighteen, and Manny threw her one at Emma's. It started out pretty small, you know, but eventually everyone heard; basically, the entire school was at her house Friday night." Mia nodded quizzically, still not sure of Toby's point; Toby bought more time and adjusted his glasses. "Some Lakehurst kids came, even – and two of them were pretty drunk and acting like asses, so they got kicked out. They were hanging outside, and JT went out to his car to get something, and there was, um, a fight, and, um –" _Just say it,_ Toby scolded himself. _Avoiding it isn't going to change anything. _He took one final breath, one final moment of denial – but he couldn't evade the truth any longer. "One of the kids – had a knife. And he – he –"

Mia didn't allow Toby to finish his thought. Eyes wide with panic, she grabbed his arm. "Oh my God, is JT okay? Is he at the hospital? Will he be all right?" She asked in one breath. Toby slowly shook his head.

"He, um… He died, Mia. JT died."

Mia stared blankly at Toby for a moment. "That's not funny."

It took Toby a second to come up with a reply to that one. "Who's joking?"

Just like that, Mia wilted. Her grip on Toby loosened and she collapsed into him. Her head was buried in his jacket; Toby could hear muffled pleas of "No – no – no…" The pleas soon turned to tears; Mia's body shook with sobs as she continued to press herself into the best friend of her dead boyfriend.

As Mia wept, Toby simply stood there. Stood there and supported her frail body; stood there, stoic and expressionless. Stood there, as the first period bell rang and students shuffled past, whispering to themselves about the spectacle taking place in front of them. Stood there, as Mia wept. Stood there and realized that JT was dead.

He had ignored it; denied it – pretended that JT was on vacation or pissed with him or home sick – for as long as he could. Ignored the facts as they looked him blankly in the face. Up until that moment – as a Grade 11 walking past him whispered the word "knife" to her friend and Mia's tears soaked into a wet spot on his shoulder – up until that moment, a sliver of a piece of a minor fraction of him still believed that all of this wasn't real. Some big hoax; an elaborate prank. The kind of thing JT was known for.

But as he stood in the hallway of Degrassi Community School, hugging a girl who had loved JT just as much as he had: that's when it hit him. Fully, completely, square in the freaking face: JT Yorke was dead.

This was a permanent development. It wasn't going away. JT had departed from the tangible world. He was gone. Dead. Gone and dead.

JT Yorke was dead.

And Toby Isaacs was left to repair all that remained.

…_I carried the world just as far as I could, but the damage had taken its toll._

_You used to call my name every hour of every day…_

Scratched pink tile. Cheap foggy mirrors. Messy, inappropriate scribbles all over the stalls. Fluorescent lights that would wash even the best complexion out.

Mia curled her knees up to her chin and pressed her forehead against the cool metal partition, wondering how her life had come to this. Here she was, perched on a toilet seat that was more likely than not covered in herpes, crying her eyes out. Here JT… _wasn't_. Fuck.

She lifted her head up and stared into one of the light bulbs on the ceiling. Maybe if she stared long enough, she wouldn't have to watch her world crumble in front of her. Maybe she'd go crazy and forget everything.

Another tear dripped down her cheek; it paused on her chin for a moment before dropping and soaking straight into her jeans. Mia rubbed the wet spot with her thumb, but it wasn't going anywhere. Another tear fell – another wet spot. Why had her life come to this?

She had spent her weekend playing hide and go seek and princesses with her two-year-old. Her biggest problem had been what flavor ice cream to buy Bella at the local old-fashioned soda shop. Repeat viewings of _The Little Mermaid _and _Pocahontas _had succeeded in completely and totally de-stressing her. It had been a really, really good weekend. The first Mia had had in a while.

And while she was off having this really, really good weekend, her boyfriend was dying. JT Yorke was getting stabbed by Drake Lempke, who'd been in her math class the year before. JT had died – and she hadn't even been there. How could she have been gone for only a weekend? How could this have happened while she was singing Disney songs and playing pretend?

It occurred to her out of nowhere that last Friday, when JT had hugged her and wished her a good trip, was the last glimpse she was ever going to get of him. Her stomach cramped up; she seriously contemplated sliding to the floor, in case her stomach decided to follow suit with the rest of her organs and rupture.

Mia tried in vain to picture JT's last moments – but it wasn't possible. She didn't know what he was wearing that night; what Drake had said before he stabbed him. She hadn't been at the party – Christ, she didn't even know where Emma lived. JT had died. Her boyfriend was dead. And she didn't even know how or why or when.

She hadn't thought to ask Toby those kinds of things, before, when he'd told her. The only reaction she'd been capable of at the time was – well, the same one as now. Sobbing. What else could she do? JT was dead.

Mia struggled to set the scene within her own mind. She imagined JT talking and laughing, surrounded by friends... (JT had always been like that: a magnet for attention, for laughter. Sometimes she wondered what he saw in her, the meek teenage mother.) Anyway, in her head, JT was retelling some lame joke he loved – that one involving a cow and a dildo. Mia smiled; despite everything, she could recite it verbatim. Toby was off in some corner, surely, sulking because of the various girls who had rejected him over the course of the night. Manny would be grinding with Darcy in the middle, being the attention whores they were; Emma and her dropout boyfriend making out somewhere in the back. Liberty, of course, would be stomping around, scowling and scolding those who were drinking and warning everyone not to make too much noise. Yeah, that would be Liberty.

Mia closed her eyes and could almost picture JT remembering his cell, locked away in the Oldsmobile – he probably wanted to call her, to check up. Make sure she'd made it to her aunt's okay – yeah, Mia was sure that was it. He finished his story, leaving everyone in hysterics, and dashed outside. Fished his keys out of his right pocket, humming Blink-182 as he opened up the car…

…And then what? Mia's mind went blank. What happened next? When did Drake come into the picture? What did he say? How did JT respond? What had it felt like – a knife piercing through his flesh? Where had he been stabbed? How much blood was there? What had JT's last thoughts been – had they been of her? Of Bella? Who found him? Was he dead already, or did it take longer? How did everyone else find out? How did they react? How quickly had the party ended after that?

The questions raced through Mia's mind; one after another after another after another. The image of the life draining from JT's eyes flashed in front of her; she gasped and let her legs drop to the floor. She watched in horror as JT sunk to the ground, a final word lingering on his lips: _Mia._

Mia smeared away a stray stream of tears, a final question lingering in her mind. Throughout all of the chaos – the inevitable police inquiries and hospital trips and whatever else death actually involved – had anyone even considered her? Remembered Mia Jones, JT's girlfriend – cared enough to call her, you know – inform her that her boyfriend had died?

A snort escaped. Probably not. No one but JT had ever cared about Mia. Toby, Liberty, Emma – to them, she didn't exist. Never mind that she'd been dating JT for nearly three months. Never mind that he was practically the father of her daughter. Never mind that she was pretty sure they'd been in love. She remained an outsider, an imposter – even after JT was gone.

Mia, the girlfriend, had been the last to know. JT had been dead for two full days before anyone even remembered to tell her. She'd been an afterthought, if anything: nothing more than a footnote on the life of James Tiberius Yorke.

The unfairness of it all spurred another round of tears; Mia turned her eyes upward as she debated what she would say to JT, given another five minutes of life.

_I love you? You've changed me? Thanks for the memories?_

She snorted again, this time at her own lameness. She wasn't going to get any more time, after all; JT's stay on planet Earth was over. Permanently. _Oh my God._

She hadn't said goodbye. She hadn't known.

How could she have known?

How could she have stopped it?

The bathroom door opened, halting Mia's mourning momentarily. Mia held her breath as a pair of Pumas entered the bathroom and paused in front of a mirror; the creaky faucet could be heard in the background. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up and unhooked her stall's latch. It was time she got to math, anyway.

The door swung open; Liberty Van Zandt stared at Mia as if she were a mutant. Mia wiped away the last remains of her crying jag and stepped forward. Liberty continued to stare at her coldly through the mirror; Mia stared right back. The only sound to be heard was water gushing into the sink.

She was there, Mia realized in horror. She was there in his last hour; his last moments. She was there. Getting pregnant at fourteen had taught Mia that the world was an unfair place; but the fact that Liberty Van Zandt had gotten more of a goodbye with JT than she ever would seemed like the cruelest joke of all.

Her jaw was set; glare fierce; knees weak. Liberty ripped her eyes away and turned off the faucet. Mia shut her eyes; shook her head – she was seconds from stalking out into the hallway. Liberty had been there that night, after all, and Mia hadn't – she would never, ever forgive her for that.

But one thing tugged at Mia's reasoning; it kept her in the girl's bathroom, locked in an awkward silence with the girl she hated most. A week earlier, Mia would have rolled her eyes and marched away, content with the fact that JT loved her most. But… did that even matter anymore?

"What was he wearing?" she inquired sheepishly.

"Uh, _what_?"

"What was he – uh, JT – wearing? That night?" Liberty raised her eyebrows for a moment; Mia could feel the tears welling in her eyes. Liberty didn't say anything for a few seconds, choosing instead to stare at Mia through the mirror. "Please –" Mia begged quietly. "I just… I have to know. What was he wearing?"

Mia's words softened Liberty considerably – she sighed slowly and turned to face her directly. "Just – just a tee shirt," she replied wearily. "A white long-sleeved tee shirt with the buttons undone at the neck and… and his old beat-up jeans."

"What he had on that day, at school?" Liberty nodded sharply, although her expression had lost considerable severity. Mia's nightmare gained a little clarity. "Thank you," she whispered gratefully. Without another word, Mia shoved her hands into her pockets and walked out into the hallway.

_JT Yorke is dead_.

A fresh batch of tears trickled down her cheeks before Mia could hurriedly wipe them away. She took a deep breath and turned towards math class.

Now what?

Oh, god –

JT was dead.

…_How I live to hear that sound; but every sound gets washed away._

_And the years have been unkind; we no longer have control…_

Liberty Van Zandt was moments away from a full fledged panic attack.

It was crumbling – the world as she saw it was crumbling. Threads spun loose, fraying the edges; faults formed, crackling as they stretched from corner to corner. The infrastructure she'd spend years erecting was caving in; her world was caving in. Bits and pieces of her life broke free and tumbled away; leaving holes beyond repair. The destruction echoed within her; splitting and snapping until she could no longer concentrate. The hollow hum of her world crumbling surged through her ears and her heart, her brain and her lungs – until she had to fight for air.

She attempted to calm herself; regulate her breathing back into normality – but she continued to gasp helplessly as her walls toppled and buckled. Liberty had never had a problem with asthma, but she would have given anything for an inhaler, right at this very moment. She closed her eyes and imagined sucking in on the small piece of plastic, just like Toby used to do, so many gym classes ago. She imagined the nameless miracle drug seeping into her bloodstream, clearing her throat. Temporarily fixing all her problems. She breathed in deeply, feeling slightly better.

She could do this. She would do this. All it took was a little lip gloss, a pen to fill out some dittos, money for lunch – she could do this. She could be okay. She could fake it, at least. She had to fake it. She couldn't let everyone else see that she was crumbling. Liberty Van Zandt didn't crumble.

She couldn't even begin to start to comprehend that this was what the rest of her life was going to be like. It had been just over 48 hours, and already she was falling apart. She had, what? Fifty, sixty years left? The thought of sixty years without his smile sent another chunk of her plummeting; she pushed it out of her mind and concentrated on her surroundings. They were so familiar, and yet felt so freakishly foreign.

The desk she'd inhabited every morning for just over four months now impounded her mercilessly. A few of her old essays were tacked to the board next to the door: _The Calamity of Colonization, The Great Leap Forward: Nothing But a Great Failure, How the Cold War Froze the Russian Economy._ Usually, looking at them made her smile to herself, thinking back proudly to the excellent work she had churned out in the past. Today, the essays only served as a harsh reminder of before.

That was how the rest of her life was going to be: split up. Before and after. No matter how much she yearned for it; how many tears she choked back in an attempt to remain strong – before would always remain simply that. Before now. Before this. Before Liberty sat in her history desk, slumped over for the first time in her life. Before the world as she saw it crumbled.

"Ms. Van Zandt?" Another bit gave up and plunged. "Hello? Anyone home?" Liberty looked up. Mr. Perino was standing in front of her, tapping a pen against his clipboard in annoyance. Liberty searched for a word, any word – but her throat was dry and her world was crumbling. Her history teacher, notorious for being a complete ass, rolled his eyes. "Come on, I don't have all day."

"W-what?" The single syllable took Liberty a marathon's worth of effort to produce.

"The homework, Van Zandt, which I assigned Friday and assumed you've done. Questions five through ten on page 503, if I remember correctly."

Liberty looked to her bag, fully aware that there was no such assignment within it. Such an assignment in Liberty's handwriting didn't exist – what with everything that had happened that weekend; it had completely slipped her mind. Liberty searched for a sentence, a phrase – anything that could sufficiently express her horror, her grief. How his blood had gurgled on to her fingers, her clothes; how it had turned cold in a chillingly short amount of time. How she spent two hours squinting under the fluorescent hospital lights that blinded her and jaded her all at once. How Toby's arm felt pressed against her spine; Emma's head on her shoulder; Manny sobbing in the background. How it felt to be the only one standing erect as her friends, her world, crumbled.

She searched for the words, but nothing came. She looked up to Mr. Perino, who raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Van Zandt didn't do the homework? Alert the presses, everyone!" He grinned and he scribbled her name on his pad. His glee was obvious; this was easily his favorite part about his job. Liberty had never understood what drove a man who reveled in failure to become a teacher in the first place. "Well, Liberty, I don't know what I'm going to do with you. This is the first step, you know – next thing we know, you'll be dropping out and dealing drugs." He chuckled, clearly not finished yet. Liberty remained focused on her desk; repeated the love notes and death threats scratched into the varnish until she could recite them. "It's a slippery slope, Van Zandt. A slippery slope, indeed."

_B.G. + E.R. TRU LUV 4EVER. MARK IS AN ASS. I HEART I.P. PERINO FUCKS ARMSTRONG UP THE ASS AND LIKES IT._

"Here's hoping this doesn't become a trend, Van Zandt. Although, it would greatly benefit the other students if you failed, seeing as the curve would suffer significantly. I suppose –" Liberty gulped. His words clung to her, like a particularly ugly sweater. She couldn't shake them off. She couldn't shake any of this off, no matter how hard she tried.

"Stop." It took a second for Liberty to comprehend that it was not Mr. Perino who had spoken, but – she turned around to find the source of the voice. Toby was in his usual seat, three rows behind her; glasses askew and eyes defiant. Mr. Perino stared at his normally meek student incredulously, seemingly finding Toby's uncharacteristically bold words to be a figment of his imagination. "Just shut up, okay? She didn't do the homework. Get over it. Being an ass isn't going to do anything about it."

Liberty gulped again as Toby continued to stare Perino down. The teacher took a step forward; smirked. "My room. After school. We'll discuss this then."

Toby's expression made it clear he did not care. Perino said no more of the incident, instead moving on to harass the next student. Liberty looked at Toby for a few more moments, as the outside world proceeded to drain away again. He offered her a small, weak smile. She attempted one in return.

Her world was crumbling, and Toby was the only one who saw it.

She turned back to the front of the room. She was hit with an odd notion, then, as she stared at the chicken scratches that littered the white board in front of her.

Maybe she wasn't the only one.

…_we are no more._

A/N: So did you guys like it? I have another chapter in mind, perhaps, if anyone is interested. Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks for taking the time to read!


	2. Part Two: Broken Heart

**A/N:** Hey guys! Sorry this story took so long to complete – I was a bit distracted by real life and other fics (shameless plug alert! all of them take place in this same twisted post-RTT universe, so if you're into that, I'd recommend you check them outt…but that's just my unbiased and impartial opinion) But anyway, I'd had bits and pieces of this written since I posted the first chapter, and about a week ago I decided it was high time I let this school day from hell finally end. So I put on my RIP JT mix (it's called _goodbye love_ because I am a walking cliché), picked a new Motion City Soundtrack song (their new single! so kickass!), and wrote this. I hope you enjoyyy!

A/N Part Two: And also, I took some creative liberties here – like, Spinner still sitting with Darcy even though this takes place after the hypocritical-whore fiasco, but it's not all that important in the context of the story, so I'd appreciate if you'd just roll with it.

A/N Part Three (last one, I swear): As for the formalities: Degrassi, not mine. (JT wouldn't be dead; maybe Darcy, instead.) Motion City Soundtrack, not mine. (Their CD would have already been released.)

And now, on to the main attraction…!

_**Part Two: Broken Heart**_

_A tragic tale of all that's yet to come…_

During homeroom, everything was going along as per usual. In the back Maggie Brown was flirting shamelessly with Ross Xavier's new shaggy haircut. Fiona Peters and Slater D'Angelo sucking face as Mike Kamovitch, notorious for his creepiness, gaped. Liberty, as always, sat in her front-row seat, staring straight ahead as chaos erupted around her. She ignored the laughter, the paper footballs, the swearing. She ignored it best as she could; gripped the side of the desk until her hands cramped.

Kwan did her best to silence the bedlam, but her efforts only increased the noise. A paper plane skidded across Liberty's desk. She didn't notice until Henry Roy snatched it back, mumbling a quick apology.

Henry and JT had been good friends, back in grade school. That is, until JT started hanging with Emma and Manny – Harry cried 'cooties!' and promptly ditched him. JT remained bitter up until the moment he…

Liberty took another deep breath; shut her eyes – cleared her mind. Well, tried to. She told herself to think of boring, mundane things – chemistry test next period, chicken nuggets for lunch, read chapter nine of The Scarlet Letter for English tomorrow – things to get her mind off the blood and the lights and the memory of Toby sobbing into her shoulder. She could do this. She could remain in one piece. Only six periods left. (But after that, there would only be another day to live through. And then another and another and another – _stop it._)

When she opened her eyes, Kwan was in front of her desk, clutching a copy of Hawthorne's novel and staring intently at Liberty. It was a look Liberty knew all to well – she'd been on the receiving end of it plenty of times last year, once she started to show. It was Kwan's concerned look, adopted whenever she tried to pull a Mrs. Suave and pry into her students' lives.

"Liberty, is everything all right?" she asked, kindly enough. Usually, Liberty's good breeding and kiss-ass tendencies made a polite response second nature. But JT was… And yet Liberty was still somehow sitting in Kwan's homeroom as if everything were fine.

"Yeah," she snapped, avoiding Kwan's pseudo-empathetic gaze.

"Are you sure, dear? Because you look –"

Kwan's words were cut off by the morning announcements. The TV in the front of the room switched on abruptly, and Heather Sinclaire began to read the notices off her sheet of paper just as always – like a dyslexic who lacked a firm grasp of the English language. Liberty took another deep breath; she really should have given JT that job.

"And, like, there's a girl lacrosse game, like, uh, next – Friday? Tuesday? Oh, wait, sorry, Monday. That's what I meant! And, uh, yeah, it's against Lakehurst, so, like, go panthers and all that. And –" Her awkward and fragmented recitation was interrupted by Mrs. Hatzilakos, who stepped into the frame and whispered into Heather's ear. A boy in the back catcalled as Heather scurried away and the principal took her place.

Hatzilakos's expression was solemn; Liberty's throat closed up as it dawned on her what was coming. _Fuck. _Liberty had never been one for swearing; she found it to be pointless and immature. But a string of four-letter words seemed all too appropriate for her current situation: _Fuck. Shit. Damn. _

"I have some extremely sad news to report," Mrs. Hatzilakos announced; Liberty was impressed that she wasn't reading off a print-out. "It seems that one of Degrassi's most beloved students passed away last Friday night." _Passed away? He was fucking stabbed. Fuck. _"JT Yorke was a senior here at Degrassi, and recognized throughout the school for his work in the drama club and friendly sense of humor. I knew him since his first days at Degrassi, as a grade seven, and he was an amazing young man." _Damn. _"I know he will be sincerely missed by the entire DCS community. If anyone wants to talk about what happened, or share any feelings they may have had about JT – just remember, Mrs. Suave's door is always open."

_Shit. I loved him. I fucking loved him. What would you say to that, Mrs. Suave? _

The TV screen turned black; Liberty could feel twenty-three pairs of eyes on her. Her relationship with JT had been lazily followed by most of the class – what with the drugs and the pregnancies and the Mia factor, it had been one of Degrassi's more interesting home-bred soap operas.

"Dude, that…blows," someone said stupidly in the back. Liberty took a deep breath and gripped the sides of the desk even tighter. How could JT have abandoned her for another year with_ these_ people?

"Oh…my god," Mrs. Kwan breathed, putting a hand to her mouth in horror. "That's…oh, no."

Liberty avoided looking at her. Avoided the silent, prying stares that engulfed her. Avoided the memory on constant replay in her mind: _"Sorry, your brother is gone." _Closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and focused her thoughts on other things: Boyle's Law. Roger Chillingworth. The Suez Crisis. Not JT. Not JT.

Taking a shaky breath, she opened her eyes and looked to Mrs. Kwan. The teacher she'd known for five years was at her desk, hunched over, small shoulders shaking quietly. _She never even really liked him._

The class sat in an uncomfortable silence, watching their teacher go through the motions of a mini-breakdown. Liberty felt the scary almost asthmatic tendencies from first period trickling back. She did what she could to calm herself down: _breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. _She tried the method that had worked that morning, recalling memories of Toby sucking on his inhaler in gym class – but it wasn't stopping, Liberty was loosing air and her brain was spinning and her heart wasn't functioning and oh god JT was dead –

"I'm so sorry, class," Mrs. Kwan said abruptly, plucking a tissue from the box on her desk to wipe her eyes. "But JT was such a fantastic young man… So bright and friendly and so much p-promise…I just can't believe it – I just can't fathom –"

_Join the club, _Liberty thought, rolling her eyes. She had never been one for sarcasm, but she found that a cynical comment here and there stuck a small but effectual band-aid on the massive gaping hole within her. Maybe she hadn't given JT enough credit, facing all of his problems over the years with fart jokes. Maybe, for him, there hadn't been any other way.

Executing uncommonly perfect timing, the bell rung. Liberty, also uncommonly, was the first one up, stuffing her books into her bag in a rush to leave the room and the gaping and the awkward. But before she could escape, Kwan caught her. _Damn._

"Oh, Liberty – I had no idea – if there's anything you need, anything at all –"

"I'm _fine_, Mrs. Kwan," she muttered firmly. At Kwan's skeptical glance, she added, "Really, I swear. _Fine_ – I'm _fine_."

But it wasn't like Beetlejuice – saying it three times didn't make it true.

…_fingers crossed, there will be love._

_So much to say, but no words to convey…_

_A salad? Or maybe French fries? The chicken nuggets aren't that bad, either. They look like they might actually be chicken today, too._

In nearly every respect, it was a normal day for Mia. She had totally bombed a geometry test, tripped over a random book in the hallway and fallen flat on her face, and was now being forced to pick her poison in the form of Sheila's disgusting lunch options. A perfectly normal day.

_Just pick something,_ she told herself as she continued to stare at the racks of Vitamin water and Rice Krispie treats in front of her. _It doesn't matter – you're not going to eat it, anyway. _She reached for a bag of chips, and then pulled her hand back.

What had she eaten Friday? Maybe that would make this easier. She racked her brain, but to no avail. She couldn't remember much of anything from Friday – only JT adorably rolling her backpack out to the front for her, wrapping his arms around her and pecking her on the lips – even though he knew her mom was watching from the car. He'd squeezed her hand and walked away, pausing to shoot her once last grin as he opened the door. Mia had fiddled with the ring on her finger and wondered what she did to deserve such an amazing boyfriend.

Yet, here she was, alone and unable to pick out a lunch for herself. How did this come to be? How had her life changed so radically over the course of one weekend?

She avoided thoughts of his name and finally grabbed a bag of Cheetos. She'd never even really liked them – whenever Bella ate them, everything within a five-foot radius ended up covered in orange dust – but he had. He'd eaten them for lunch the Friday before, in fact. The fact that Mia remembered what he had eaten, but not her own lunch, was quite pathetic.

She pushed her tray along and grabbed a water bottle, as well. Hell, maybe she was dehydrated and simply making all of this up. For all she knew, she was actually passed out in the nurse's office right now; the knife fights and Cheetos and isolation were all just a part of some wild delusion she was having. Maybe she would wake up soon, laugh off her craziness, and go out for ice cream with him and Bella.

_…That would pretty much rule._

Mia paid for her food and turned to face the cafeteria, holding her tray out like a shield. There was a familiar quicksand sensation within her stomach; _shit, what do I do now?_

Mia had plenty of 'friends' at Degrassi. Kids from her classes, kids who she could call for homework help and said hi to in the hallways. As for _actual_ friends, however – well, there weren't that many of those. Actually, she was pretty sure he'd been the only one. _(Wow. That's depressing.)_

She'd sat with his friends out of laziness, out of habit – they were relatively cool kids, and she didn't have the time or the energy to make any good friends of her own. Over the past few months, she'd been adopted – however reluctantly – into his little clique. She'd sat with them during lunch every day for the past two and a half months.

But – he was and – would she still be welcome? They'd only tolerated her because of JT, she knew. Toby and Emma and Danny and all of them – they'd liked her, sure, but they never would have gone out of their way to get to know her, if it hadn't been for him.

And now he was dead, and she was being forced to relive the horrors of her first day all over again. _Where the hell am I supposed to sit?_

She was frozen at the front of the cafeteria, clutching her tray and gaping out at the dozens of tables. She spotted Annie, who sat next to her in English – but she was eating with the crazy Christians, a place she was obviously not welcome. And Kyle, her nice lab partner, who was laughing at something one of his lame stoner friends had said – oblivious to Mia's anguish.

Although, who could blame him, really? She'd put forth the effort to talk to him about anything more than lab reports and difficult quiz questions. She'd never needed to. She'd always had...oh, crap.

Mia doubled back to grab a fistful of napkins, just to delay the inevitable. She was contemplating ditching her tray altogether and seeking refuge in the library when she felt someone elbow her spine –

"Oh, whoa, sorry, didn't see you there." Crazy Christian Clone number four smiled sheepishly and apologized; the contents of his backpack were scattered at his feet. "I, just, uh, kind of lost my footing –"

"It's no problem," Mia replied blankly, setting her tray down momentarily to help him pick up his stuff. Just because her boyfriend was dead didn't mean she had to forget her manners.

"Thanks. You're – Mia, right?" He said as they stood back up. Mia grabbed her tray, her force field, and nodded. The kid slung his bag over his shoulder and held out his hand; upon realizing Mia's were busy holding her tray, he awkwardly retracted it and continued, "I'm Spinner Mason. Listen, I just wanted to say – about JT. That just – it's so awful. I'm so sorry. I – I – I can't even imagine." _No, you can't, _Mia inwardly agreed._ But it's nice that you're acknowledging that. _"I mean, I wasn't ever really good friends with him, and we had our, like, problems over the years, but I've known him since grade school and – he was a really, really great guy."

Mia blinked away tears and forced a small smile. She'd never even spoken to this kid – just assumed that because he basically followed Darcy Edwards around, he was a spineless Christian asshole. But his sheepish smile and solemn tone were genuine; he was reaching out, to a girl he hardly knew – for no reason in particular. Mia found it was refreshing after a morning of fake sympathy and awkward avoidance.

"Thanks…Spinner. That's the first time someone's – done something like that."

"No problem," he shrugged. "I just – you looked – like you could use a friend."

"That's one optimistic way of putting it," she replied bitterly. Spinner raised his eyebrows, so she clarified, "I usually sat with – them. Toby and Emma and Manny and everyone. But, now…"

"What, you think that, without JT, you're not allowed?"

Mia shrugged. "They never really welcomed me into their circle…who says they would they now?"

"Uh, common decency?"

"Emma Nelson and common decency aren't exactly synonymous for me," Mia admitted with a small smile.

"Okay…" Spinner paused thoughtfully, "…Not completely sure what that means. But – whatever. Just go sit with them. They aren't going to, like, banish you. They can't ignore that you lost him, too, just as much as they did."

"I guess…" Mia sighed.

"Besides, who else would you even _want_ to sit with? No one else in this caf has any idea what you're dealing with right now."

"Well, I'd always harbored this secret hope of sitting with you and Darcy and accepting Christ into my heart…" At Spinner's frantic glance, she laughed and clarified, "It's okay, I was just kidding. I know she hates me."

"She doesn't _hate_ you, exactly…" Spinner said quickly. "She just…has, like, a really rigid sense of morals…"

"Alright, then, you should go talk to her about those morals before you get in trouble for standing within three feet of me. You know, you might accidentally impregnate me with an illegitimate bastard."

Spinner stood for a second, staring, unsure if he was supposed to laugh. Mia – who turned out to be a lot more like JT than she previously thought, using humor to mask

her inner pain – nodded, and Spinner let out an awkward chuckle for her benefit.

"Um, yeah, I guess you're right." He grinned and gestured toward Mia's table. "Go sit with them. They won't tar and fester you, I promise." Mia puzzled over his word choice for a second: _fester…?_ "Alright, then, so… I guess I'll see you around?"

"Yeah, definitely." Mia said quietly, forcing all the cheeriness she could muster. Spinner deserved it. "And – thanks. For, you know, this."

Spinner smiled and shrugged. "Anytime. God can be used for good as well as evil, you know"

"Yeah, yeah – go tell that to Mother Theresa over there." Mia shot back as she turned towards her table. She could hear Spinner laughing as she walked away.

Her arrival at the table was awfully anticlimactic – none of the fanfare she expected, negative or otherwise. They all wearily looked up from their half-eaten Sheila mush and offered her a couple small, sad smiles and quiet greetings.

"Hey, Mia," Toby stabbed a fork into his thin slab of meat. "How awkward was Hatzilakos's announcement thing this morning?"

"Oh, God," Manny rolled her eyes. She was paler than usual, and her face lacked its usual makeup-induced sheen. "That was ridiculous."

"He would have hated it," Danny added ruefully. "He would have been making fart jokes and chucking rubber chickens at everyone."

"I heard Kwan had, like, a nervous breakdown at the news…but I doubt that's true. Kwan hated him." Emma readjusted her greasy, messy bun and sighed.

"No, it's true, she did," Liberty offered meekly, not even looking up from her plate. "I'm in her homeroom. It was very odd."

"All of this…" Mia trailed off for a moment, "…is very odd."

The five other people, her five _friends?_ – reacted in much the same way. Exhausted nods, bitter whispers, sad smiles. They confirmed that what Mia was feeling – the strange inability to breath despite plenty of air; the DVR in her head stuck playing a few fragmented memories; the hesitancy to continue living in a world that he was no longer a part of – it wasn't just her. JT hadn't died simply for her – he was resting in peace for every single person at this table. Every single one of them was haunted by the unoccupied chair.

Over the course of the period, the topic slowly drifted away from their dead friend – to easier, blander subjects: recent tests, gossip, the weather. Anything to keep them from treading the grief that loomed around them. For forty minutes, Mia distracted herself with Danny's Kwan impression; Emma's opinion on Chris Sharpe's latest hook-up. She didn't forget, exactly, but – for forty minutes, it was a little easier. A little less hopeless.

It was ironic, though; only after JT, her one lifeline, passed away, did Mia begin to feel like maybe she might eventually sort of find her place at Degrassi.

…_the loneliness building with each passing day._

_But I never get used to it..._

The bell rang, and it was over. Toby gathered up his things, followed the rest of his chemistry class into the hallway, and took the usual route to his locker. He dumped the required textbooks into his bag; lazily tossed his sweatshirt over his shoulder. The bell had rung, and it was over. Toby's first official JT-less school day was over.

_Finally_.

Toby slammed his locker shut and headed for the foyer, pushing past all the usual cliques. The jocks, clad in clashing yellow-and-blue letterman jackets, excitedly exchanging details on the latest game or match or whatever. The bad-asses, leaning against lockers and doing their best to look threatening. The Christians, putting up posters for the upcoming Make-The-World-Perfect prayer circle.

All the cliques were there, and Toby was on the outside – as usual. He'd spent most of his formative years as the nerd, the geek, the kid who preferred anime and computers to girls and parties. He was used to it, by now. Used to the condescending looks, the muffled insults, the hushed whispers. Used to the stereotypes and the names.

He'd always had JT, after all. JT had been a nerd, too – but a more socially acceptable variety. His shaggy hair and charming smile had been enough to rocket him into the world of frappucinos and card games and Spinner Mason – for a while, at least. He had come back to Toby, though. JT always came back.

Their friendship had been like that: even after Toby revealed JT's dirty little fantasy; even after JT ditched Toby in favor of a chance with Paige – they'd always come back to each other. For depressingly long stretches of his high school career, JT had been all that Toby had.

And now… he was dead.

Toby shoved the thought out of his head and gulped back tears. He wouldn't cry, he couldn't – not here. Not on the front steps of Degrassi. Not at the place where he had spent countless mornings lounging on the steps, leering at girls as they passed by and cracking jokes. Countless, seemingly stupid memories.

All the memories, the inside jokes – at the time, they had seemed so random, so pointless, so forgettable. That is, until JT was stabbed, and suddenly the stupid things were all that was left.

Toby stumbled past a group of Grade 9's, splayed along the concrete wall just below the 'Welcome to Degrassi!' sign. A nameless girl shot Toby a look and whispered to her friend – something inaudible. Her friend's shriek in reply, however, was a lot easier to hear.

"Yeah, I heard he was, like, the one who found his body. He fully sobbed for like a half hour before he even remembered to call for help." Toby halted for a moment, staring straight ahead. "It's, like, totally tragic. That guy who died was super cute, too. What was his name?"

Toby gulped and ducked his head, so no one would see the tears spilling out of his eyes. He stumbled off the sidewalk and weaved through the parking lot until he reached his bubbeh's beat-up station wagon – _seventy-three steps_. By some cruel twist of fate, he had parked it right beside the picnic table where Toby had sat with JT and Emma and Danny during lunch that day – Toby had choked back cold noodles and vomit at the other boy's words. When Rick had appeared, coated in yellow crap, he'd been grateful for an excuse to get away from their blatant cruelty.

JT Yorke hadn't been perfect. He could be shallow and petty, sometimes ignoring Toby in favor of bigger and better social circles. His fart jokes were kind of lame. His concepts of manliness and loyalty had been pretty screwed up. He'd attempted to face possible dealing charges by swallowing a handful of pills – although Toby had always known it wasn't suicide he was after. JT had, somewhat stupidly, entertained the notion that he and Liberty could raise a kid at sixteen. He'd also had this weird thing for teenage mothers that Toby never fully understood.

But, in retrospect, none of that mattered. JT had been smart and hysterical and kind and awesome with kids and loyal and determined and optimistic. He'd grown up a hell of a lot since his "Hey Liberty, guurlfriend!" days. He'd been the best person Toby had, and probably ever would, know.

At that thought, the tears really started to gush. _Damn, _Toby thought bitterly as he pressed his forehead against his car door, _this fucking blows. _He wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and kicked the tire. When he looked up, he saw a crowd of drama geeks gaping at him. At his fierce glance, they feigned ignorance and started whispering amongst themselves.

JT's death seemed to be altering every aspect of Toby's life – not only could he not even feasibly imagine himself surviving the next week, let alone the rest of his life; he had also gained a new nickname. No longer was he the Nerdy-Anime-Geek-Who-Was-Friends-With-That-Kid-Who-Shot-Everyone.

Nope, things were changing for Toby. He was moving on _up. _Now, he was the Nerdy-Anime-Geek-Who-Was-Friends-With-That-Kid-Who-Got-Stabbed, What-Was-His-Name-Again?

Toby gulped and clambered into his car, wiping his eyes once more. He threw his backpack into the back seat and draped himself over the steering wheel, not bothering to smear away the tears that stubbornly continued to fall. The drama girls could still see him, but he was way past giving a flying fuck about anyone who was alive when JT wasn't.

_JT is dead. JT is dead. James Tiberius fucking Yorke is dead._

The thought paraded through Toby's mind like some sort of twisted mantra. It wasn't ever going to go away – JT was never going to be alive, ever again. All thoughts of him from now on would be in the past tense. _How fucked up is that?_

Toby sat up straight and readjusted his glasses; he had to get home. Despite everything, he still had homework to do. A chapter in bio and a dozen questions on the aftermath of WWII and a two-page essay on the symbolism in Hester Pynne's latest exploits. Despite everything, life was somehow marching on. Damaged and defected, it still stumbled stupidly along.

Toby turned to his empty passenger seat. Usually, JT caught a ride home with him on Mondays, because his grandma needed the car that day to get to her bridge meeting. Toby imagined that JT was sitting next to him – legs splayed along the dashboard, arm hanging out the window, fingers impatiently twisting the dial of the radio.

"This car is crap, Tobs," he would often whine as he shifted through station after station of static. "Any music you _do_ find – if you're even that lucky – is older than my grandma and your bubbeh combined."

"Did they even have radios then?" Toby would counter as he shoved the keys into the ignition.

"Nah, just people hitting the walls of the cave with a bunch of sticks. Or their heads."

"That explains a lot about Kwan, then, eh?"

Their laughter faded, as did the image of JT. Toby turned the keys – for real this time – and sat for a moment as the car putted and moaned and, eventually, started. JT wasn't here, in his car – or anywhere. JT was dead.

_JT isn't here._ He knew he was going to have to repeat that statement many more times before he actually believed it.

Toby pressed the gas and pulled out of his spot. Maneuvering past skateboarders and those annoying freshmen with the Frisbee, he drove out of the parking lot and started towards home.

And that was that. His first JT-less day at Degrassi was officially over.

_Only about two hundred left…_

…_give or take the rest of my life._

…_you just have to live with it._


End file.
